


you are a runner

by pollyrepeat



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollyrepeat/pseuds/pollyrepeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kalinda's chin tilts up in a nod, hands in her pockets, elbows swiveled slightly out and feet planted wide apart, like a challenge, and there is a tiny ripple of panic in response that spreads over the entire table. Cary can almost hear everyone thinking, “Noooo, what does she want; who is she here to destroy?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are a runner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glassbomb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassbomb/gifts).



> Thanks, once again, go to jonesandashes for beta reading, brainstorming, and all-around brilliance. This story could not have happened without you. <3 <3 <3

Cary is sneaking through a snow-covered back yard in a dark green peacoat, and by sneaking he means that he is strolling across the lawnlike this is actually his yard. There is a scuffling sound from the other side of the garage, and Cary speeds up a bit, lets himself skid across an ice slick to tumble around the corner.

“Hi,” Cary says immediately, and then, once he sees who it is, more genuinely, “Fancy meeting you here.” He smiles up at Kalinda. His teeth are bright and white, particularly so today, because he used whitening strips last night.

“Cary,” says Kalinda, cool, as though he hasn’t just caught her halfway up a ladder to the roof of the garage where a man was found dead ten days ago.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks.

“Oh, it’s fantastic.”

“Good to hear.”

“I think I can see your office from here,” she offers. “Or wait- you’re tucked away in the corner, right, no windows for you.”

“No windows for me,” he agrees. He has no idea what she’s doing here; as far as he knows, Lockhart & Gardner have no stakes in this case. He’ll have to do some leg-work when he gets back to the office.

They regard one another for half a moment. Kalinda dusts some snow from one of the ladder rungs. “Right,” she says, and climbs the rest of the way up. She does not wish him a good afternoon, which Cary takes to be as good as an invitation to tag along, right up until she pulls the ladder up after her.

“Hmm,” he says, and Kalinda smiles at him over the edge of the roof for a moment before disappearing.

***

Things Cary Knows About Kalinda:

1.  Cary’s smile is a deadly weapon eight times out of ten. Kalinda has thus far proved mostly immune to this smile, but that’s more exciting than disappointing.

***

In a bar full of lawyers, late at night, talk turns to Cary’s previous employer and then, inevitably, to Kalinda. Everyone’s voice gets sort of soft and nervous, even when saying things like, “Whatever, guys, she’s not as scary as all that; she’s like four feet tall,” and then, perhaps equally inevitably, there is Kalinda, standing right up next to the table like she’s been there all along. In the sudden hush, she says,

“Hey.”

Her chin tilts up in a nod, hands in her pockets, elbows swiveled slightly out and feet planted wide apart, like a challenge, and there is a tiny ripple of panic in response that spreads over the entire table. Cary can almost hear everyone thinking, “Noooo, what does she want; who is she here to destroy?”

Cary leans forward out of the little crowded booth. “Hi, Kalinda,” he says, and smiles.

Kalinda needs the personal phone number of Judge Lake’s assistant. Why she couldn’t phone him about this, he’s not certain, but he can’t deny that he loves seeing her in action.

***

2\. Kalinda has dirt on every political operative, lawyer, and law enforcement professional in the city of Chicago. Actually, Cary would like to upgrade that to having dirt on every single person, living or dead, in the entire city, no, the _country_ , but that would be mythologizing and if there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s that no one ever lives up to the stories about them.

***

Cary’s phone rings at two in the morning, startling him awake. He fumbles along the edge of the night table, groaning, until Wendy huffs out an annoyed breath and swings a leg over his hips, reaching out and up to grab the cell and drop it on his chest. She collapses back into the pillows while Cary finally opens his eyes and hits the talk button. “’Lo,” he says, voice rough. “I hope that somebody’s dead.”

“Not yet,” Kalinda says.

“What?” Cary breathes, instantly less groggy. “What is it?”

“I need a second set of eyes.” She gives him an address. “Can you get there in the next 45 minutes?”

“I – yes,” Cary says. He pets Wendy’s shoulder and then struggles out from underneath the sheets. She won’t be here by the time he gets back, because she never is. “Or at least I can if – I mean, if it’s not, uh, illegal or anything—“

“Illegal what?” Wendy asks, faintly, but loud enough that Kalinda could probably hear it on the other end of the line.

“Trust me,” says Kalinda.

***

3\. Once upon a time, there was a man named Blake. Once upon a time, this man did something or said something that hurt Kalinda, although Cary has no idea what that might have been. What he does know, though, is that Kalinda _destroyed_ Blake, slowly, carefully, painstakingly. He knows because he helped her do it; he knows because when things got bad, she asked him for a favor and he gave it, willingly, and didn’t look back.

***

He pulls up at the address Kalinda gave him, 10 minutes ahead of schedule. It’s a suburban block, quiet and peaceful in the 3AM darkness. He peers through his windshield, suspicious, but all he can see is a small white house with an actual goddamn white picket fence. There’s a light-up, plastic Santa Clause bobbing gently in the wind on the front lawn.

Cary’s just pulled out his cell phone and hit redial when there’s a knock on the driver’s side window.

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, jerking around in his seat and cancelling the call, because of course it’s Kalinda, leaning over to look through the window. She waves her fingers at him, a small, economical movement, and then circles around to slide into the passenger’s seat. A gust of cold air follows her into the car.

“Hey,” she says. “Thanks for coming.”

“Not that I don’t love meeting you like this,” Cary says, “but care to tell me what’s going on?”

She turns to look at him and Cary leans forward, despite himself. Kalinda looks _exhausted_ , like she’s been holding the whole world together with nothing but her bare hands and pure will power. There are dark circles under her eyes, and one of the strands of hair that’s usually curled neatly behind her ears has come loose and is resting against the curve of her cheek. Her lips quirk into a half-smile. “Renegade snowman,” she says. “Supposed to be our star witness; disappeared yesterday morning.”

Cary considers a grin, or a charming eyebrow quirk, but takes too long deciding and defaults to a blank stare instead. Clearly it is too early for this. Kalinda folds her hands in her lap and lists back against the seat.

“It’s Alicia,” she says.

“Of course it is,” Cary sighs, even as he feels his stomach drop uncomfortably. Alicia makes it difficult to continue on in blissful self-interest; Cary was drawn to her almost immediately, fascinated by the straightforward way in which she presented herself, the deliberate lack of guile. If he’s honest with himself, it’s part of what made the circumstances under which he left the firm feel so goddamn _personal_. She changed her rules, and now he both understands her better and likes her less.

Kalinda, perhaps reading all of this in his expression, smiles again. “There are some things you need to know,” she says, “about what’s been going on for the last two weeks.”

Cary listens as Kalinda explains that someone has been altogether too interested in Alicia and her family, and he reads between the lines to learn that Kalinda has called in all her cop-friend favours and is also keeping an eye on Alicia in her spare time. She obviously hasn’t been sleeping much lately. Kalinda has a lead, or a hunch, rather, and this is where Cary comes in: she can’t involve the police in this part because there’s not enough evidence and, as the cherry on the cake, the relationship between the maybe-stalker and the firm has embarrassing potential, and so Kalinda is going to – obtain – the necessary evidence and Cary is going to be involved, somehow. He suspects as distraction.

***

4\. Kalinda enjoys distractions in her life, but only on her own terms. Cary has mostly given up on ever falling under those terms.

***

As a moderately well-paid lawyer, Cary is generally not called upon to put himself in actual physical danger. Still, he’s a young guy, spry, a bit of a risk-taker. Wandering through a house that does not actually belong to him should be no problem. Actually, that bit is okay; the part where the house belongs to someone who is clearly having issues and may or may not be violent is what’s actually getting to him.

Kalinda vanished somewhere into the depths of the house five minutes ago, leaving Cary to meander carefully and quietly through the main floor, looking for anything that might indicate a dangerous obsession with – what did that Twitter account call her? – _Saint Alicia_ and/or her family.

He closes the last closet door and eyes what he thinks is probably the door to the basement. Cary considers himself pretty genre savvy, and he’s well aware that actually opening that door and descending into the dark of the basement could be a catastrophic choice, but Kalinda still hasn’t returned – “I’ll scream if I run into trouble,” she had reassured him, deadpan – and really, the sooner he checks it out the sooner they can leave.

He cracks the door open, glances around, and then starts to head down the stairs, gently shutting the door behind him. It becomes apparent almost immediately that something is Not Right. There are candid pictures on the wall, for instance, not just of Alicia, but of a whole handful of women that Cary recognizes: all powerful, capable women who have been in the news recently. _Why yes, this is creepy_ , he acknowledges to himself, and as if to underscore this point, there is a loud and terrible thump from upstairs. Cary freezes on the stairs, holding his breath – but there’s nothing. He steels himself and redoubles his speed.

He slinks down the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, back almost pressed against the washed-out drywall. It's probably getting dust on his jacket. The door at the end of the hall is ajar, but only by a small handful of inches. Enough for a _head_ , he thinks, and then industriously shuts down that line of thought. He's nearly there. Since that lone ungodly thud, the house has remained quiet. Nearly there.

Cary has just wrapped a hand around the cold, loose doorknob when he hears a barely-audible _click._ The basement floods with yellow light from the stairwell.

He freezes.

Options, _options,_ Cary demands of his brain. He could-

A shoe connects with the top stair. Then another stair, and another, descending. Cary does the only reasonable thing, and flees back into the depths of the basement. By the time the door at the bottom of the stairs swings open, he has hidden himself in the uncomfortable darkness of the mystery room at the end of the hall, tucking himself in just behind the door and trying very hard not to think about all the things that could be behind him in the room, in the dark. The footfalls continue down the hall, but there aren't any lights here - he'll wait it out. No one knows he's down here. He has _surprise. Yes,_ he'll just blow past whenever whoever it is gets close.

He holds himself to stillness. Waits.

The someone arrives at the door, wrenching it open. Cary tenses, coiled.

A flashlight is turned on at his face.

"Hey," says Kalinda.

Three beats too late: "Oh hi there," Cary says.

She waves a stuffed manila envelope at him. _Got it,_ she doesn’t say. In the half-dark his responding grin probably makes him look like a ghoul.

***

5.  Kalinda takes her coffee with two sugars and a dollop of cream, regardless of whether she’s drinking it at 9 or 4 A.M. She sometimes brings _tea_ to stake-outs. When she’s thinking, she absently swirls the liquid around in the cup, but she never forgets to drink it while it’s hot. Her used cups seem to vanish when she’s done, like they were never there at all.

Cary used to enjoy those sugary flavored creamers, until law school happened and he learned the dark ways of brewing caffeinated monstrosities that could crawl out of their little paper cups and make four-letter cracks about his life choices.

***

Cary finds her in the bar, tucked away into a little booth in the back.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he says in lieu of hello, sliding into the seat across from her. Kalinda holds herself very still, expressionless, while he takes note of the two half-empty glasses, the purse tucked almost of sight underneath the purple winter coat on his side of the table.

“I’m busy,” she says.

“Okay,” he says, easily, spreading his hands wide and empty on the table, palm up. “Did you at least get my message?”

“I did. My federal contact took care of it.” There’s a half-beat of silence, and then, “Thanks. For helping. Alicia should be in the clear now.”

“Anytime,” he says, and means it.

Kalinda breaks eye contact with him, staring out into the crowd of people bumping and grinding on the dance floor. “You should go.”

“And if I didn’t?” Cary asks, testing.

“I would prefer that you did,” says Kalinda, testing him right back.

There’s a woman weaving her way through the dancing crowd, attention focused on balancing two shot glasses in her hands. Business casual, but he thinks he can see some sort of sequin shirt glittering underneath the blazer. She glances up, and her stride falters slightly when she catches sight of Cary, evening out into an easy swagger again almost immediately.

“I’d like to see you tomorrow,” Cary says. He and Kalinda are both watching the approaching woman, now, Kalinda swiveled sideways in her seat. “Would that be all right?”

“Cary.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.” He stands, rearranging his coat around him, stepping aside to give the woman her seat back. She sets the shots down on the table, glancing between him and Kalinda, and Kalinda must have signaled something with her expression because the woman steps in close, right into Kalinda’s personal space. She cups Kalinda’s chin in one hand and puts the other on her shoulder, leaning in and kissing her carefully, possessively.

Cary turns to the side slightly, politely busying himself with buttoning his jacket, until there’s more movement in his peripheral vision and someone touches his elbow. “Cary, Lana,” Kalinda says, still seated, lip gloss smeared just a little.

Lana quirks an eyebrow at him, removes her hand from his elbow and shakes his hand. “It’s very nice to meet one of Kalinda’s friends,” she tells him, and he thinks she means it. He thinks it might actually be nice to meet her, too. She releases his hand and steps back, evaluates the situation. “Another drink?” Lana asks, addressing both Kalinda and Cary.

Cary glances at Kalinda, who shrugs. “You know,” Cary says, “actually, I have to head out.” He doesn’t, exactly, but Kalinda has obviously made a choice and he’s grateful that she’s letting him make his own.

“All right,” Lana says, sliding into the booth. “I’ll probably see you again, Cary.”

“See you later, Cary,” Kalinda says.

“Yeah,” Cary agrees. “Later.”

***

6\. Kalinda has a thing for brunettes.

***

Kalinda sends a text message asking him to drop something off with Alicia, and Cary, who should really know better by now, agrees. They meet in the hallway outside her office, and Cary lets the wall prop him up as he hands over a file folder of information and tries very hard not to be bitter. She thanks him, almost absently, and it’s only as he turns to go that she reaches out and puts one hand on his arm. “Cary,” Alicia says. “Really. Thank you. Kalinda told me what happened.”

“Yeah, I – no problem,” Cary says, his bitterness bubble deflating, a little, in the face of her earnestness.

“And do you know – the federal charges –“ Alicia started, flipping the folder open again.

“Lana took care of that part,” Cary says, and then, when Alicia looks up, carefully nonchalant, adds, “She can be very – persuasive, I think.”

“Ah,” says Alicia. “You’ve actually met Lana.” There’s a protective note in her voice, and she’s hidden it well, but her shoulders are a tense line that tells him everything he needs to know.

As a result, instead of brushing her off like he wants to, Cary says, “Yep.”

Alicia’s shoulders relax and she says, “Well, that’s nice.” She smiles at him, with her mouth and her eyes, and fuck it, he’s actually missed this, missed the way she doesn’t mind showing the whole world all her cards, once in awhile. He suspects it’s so novel that it puts more people off their game than an underhanded move would.And so he and Alicia stand in the goddamn hallway as paralegals bustle past them, smiling and smiling at one another, because this is precious and they’re glad and they’re both a bit ridiculous, when it comes down to it.

***

7\. Alicia’s smile says, _Kalinda is our friend and she trusts us as much as she trusts anyone._

***

“We should get a drink,” Cary says to Kalinda, later, standing in line for a coffee. Kalinda has her orange notebook tucked into the front pocket of her vest, a camera slung across her chest. Cary, without much hope, adds, “We should go out together. Celebrate.”

Kalinda stands very still, and then tells him to go home to his girlfriend.

Cary says, “It’s not serious.” He says, “It’s never serious.” He says, “I’m not exactly domestic,” and it’s this last that makes Kalinda look at him again, eyes dark with something that Cary recognizes in himself.

“Cary,” Kalinda says, then stops. “Cary,” she says again, “You know I –“

“I don’t know anything about you,” Cary interrupts, quietly. Kalinda keeps her posture open, friendly, but he knows that it’s usually more deliberate than any sort of accurate reflection of her feelings.

***

8\. “You know the important things,” she says, later.

Cary knows that she’s private, that there are lines that she won’t cross and that she doesn’t mind who knows them. He knows that she’s – not fearless, but calm. Confident. Capable. He knows that she used to be a runner, in all the ways that Cary’s never been allowed to be himself, but that by now she knows how to make a stand, how to hold her hard-won ground and fight for it.

“Yes,” he says.


End file.
